The Short Guide SeriesUnder the Editorship ofSylvan Barn.docx

The Short Guide Series
Under the Editorship of
Sylvan Barnet
Marcia Stubbs
A Short Guide to Writing about Art
by Sylvan Barnet
A Short Guide to Writing about Biology
by Jan A. Pechenik
A Short Guide to Writing about Chemistry
by Herbert Beall and John Trimbur
A Short Guide to Writing about Film
by Timothy Corrigan
A Short Guide to Writing about History
by Richard Marius & Melvin E. Page
A Short Guide to Writing about Literature
by Sylvan Barnet & William Cain
A Short Guide to Writing about Music
by Jonathan Bellman
A Short Guide to Writing about Science
by David Porush
A Short Guide to Writing about Social Sciences
by Lee J. Cuba

A Short Guide to Writing about Theatre
by Marcia L. Ferguson
A Short Guide to Writing
about Art
TENTH EDITION
SYLVAN BARNET
Tufts University
PEARSON
Boston Columbus Indianapolis New York San Francisco Upper
Saddle River
Amsterdam Cape Town Dubai London Madrid Milan Munich
Paris Montreal Toronto
Delhi Mexico City Sao Paulo Sydney Hong Kong Seoul
Singapore Taipei Tokyo
FORMAL ANALYSIS
AND STYLE
It seems to me that the modem painter cannot express this age,
the airplane,
the atom bomb, the radio, in the old forms of the Renaissance or
of any
other past culture. Each age finds its own technique.
—Jackson Pollock
He has found his style when he cannot do otherwise.

—Paul Klee
All art is at once surface and symbol.
—Oscar Wilde
WHAT FORMAL ANALYSIS IS
The word formal in formal analysis is not used as the opposite
of informal,
as in a formal dinner or a formal dance. Rather, a formal
analysis—the result
of looking closely—is an analysis of the form the artist
produces; that is, an
analysis of the work of art, which is made up of such things as
hue, shape,
color, texture, mass, composition. These things give the stone or
canvas its
form, its expression, its content, its meaning. Rudolf Amheim s
assertion that
the curves in Michelangelo s The Creation of Adam convey
“transmitted,
life-giving energy” is a brief example. (See page 71.) Similarly,
one might say
that a pyramid resting on its base conveys stability, whereas an
inverted
pyramid—one resting on a point—conveys instability or
precariousness.
Even if we grant that these forms may not universally carry
these meanings,
we can perhaps agree that at least in our culture they do. That
is, members of
a given interpretive community perceive certain forms or lines
or colors or
whatever in a certain way.
Formal analysis assumes a work of art is

1. a constructed object
2. with a stable meaning
3. that can be ascertained by studying the relationships between
the
elements of the work.
46
FORMAL ANALYSIS VERSUS DESCRIPTION 47
If the elements “cohere,” the work is “meaningful.” That is, the
work
of art is an independent object that possesses certain properties,
and
if we think straight, we can examine these properties and can
say what
the work represents and what it means. The work speaks
directly to us,
and we understand its language—we respond appropriately to its
characteristics (shape, color, texture, and so on), at least if we
share the
artists culture.
Thus, a picture (or any other kind of artwork) is like a chair; a
chair
can be stood on or burned for firewood or used as a weapon, but
it was
created with a specific purpose that was evident and remains
evident to
all competent viewers—in this case people who are familiar
with chairs.
Further, it can be evaluated with reference to its purpose—we
can say,
for instance, that it is a poor chair because it is uncomfortable

and fragile.
(In a few moments we will consider opposing views.)
FORMAL ANALYSIS VERSUS DESCRIPTION
Is the term formal analysis merely a pretentious substitute for
descrip-
tion? Not quite. A description is an impersonal inventory,
dealing with
the relatively obvious, reporting what any eye might see: “A
woman in a
white dress sits at a table, reading a letter. Behind her ...” It can
also
comment on the execution of the work (“thick strokes of paint,”
“a highly
polished surface”), but it does not offer inferences, and it does
not
evaluate. A highly detailed description that seeks to bring the
image
before the reader’s eyes—a kind of writing fairly common in the
days
before illustrations of artworks were readily available in
books—is
sometimes called an ekphrasis or ecphrasis (plural: ekphraseis),
from the
Greek word for “description” (ek = out, phrazein = tell,
declare). Such a
description may be set forth in terms that also seek to convey
the writer s
emotional response to the work. That is, the description praises
the work
by seeking to give the reader a sense of being in its presence,
especially
by commenting on the presumed emotions expressed by the
depicted
figures. Here is an example: “We recoil with the terrified infant,

who
averts his eyes from the soldier whose heart is as hard as his
burnished
armor.”
Writing of this sort is no longer common; a description today is
more
likely to tell us, for instance, that the head of a certain portrait
sculpture
“faces front; the upper part of the nose and the rim of the right
earlobe
are missing. . . . The closely cropped beard and mustache are
indicated
by short random strokes of the chisel,” and so forth. These
statements,
48 CHAPTER 3 FORMAL ANALYSIS AND STYLE
from an entry in the catalog of an exhibition, are all true and
they can be i
useful, but they scarcely reveal the thought, the reflectiveness,
that we
associate with analysis. When the entry in the catalog goes on,
however, :
to say that “the surfaces below the eyes and cheeks are
sensitively
modeled to suggest the soft, fleshly forms of age,” we begin to
feel that
now indeed we are reading not merely a description but an
analysis,
because here the writer is arguing a thesis.
Similarly, although the statement that “the surface is in
excellent

condition” is purely descriptive (despite the apparent value
judgment in
“excellent”), the statement that the “dominating block form” of
the portrait
contributes to “the impression of frozen tension” can reasonably
be called ana-
lytic. One reason we can characterize this statement as analytic
(rather than
descriptive) is that it offers an argument, in this instance an
argument con-
cerned with cause and effect: The dominating block form, the
writer argues,
produces an effect—causes us to perceive a condition of frozen
tension.
Much of any formal analysis will inevitably consist of
description (“The
pupils of the eyes are turned upward”), and accurate descriptive
writing
itself requires careful observation of the object and careful use
of words.
But an essay is a formal analysis rather than a description only
if it connects
effects with causes, thereby showing how the described object
works. For
example, “The pupils of the eyes are turned upward” is a
description, but
the following revision is an analytic statement: “The pupils of
the eyes are
turned upward, suggesting a heaven-fixed gaze, or, more
bluntly, suggesting
that the figure is divinely inspired.”
When one writes a formal analysis one takes a “look under the
hood,”
in the words of Professor Rosalind Krauss? Another way of

putting it is to
say that analysis tries to answer the somewhat odd-sounding
question,
“How does the work mean?” Thus, the following paragraph,
because it is
concerned with how form makes meaning, is chiefly analytic
rather than
descriptive. The author has made the point that a Protestant
church
emphasizes neither the altar nor the pulpit; “as befits the
universal
priesthood of all believers,” he says, a Protestant church is
essentially
an auditorium. He then goes on to analyze the ways in which a
Gothic
cathedral says or means something very different:
The focus of the space on the interior of a Gothic cathedral is . .
.
compulsive and unrelievedly concentrated. It falls, and falls
exclusively,
upon the sacrifice that is re-enacted by the mediating act of
priest
before the altar-table. So therefore, by design, the first light
that
strikes the eye, as one enters the cathedral, is the jeweled glow
of the
lancets in the apse, before which the altar-table stands. The
pulsating
rhythm of the arches in the nave arcade moves toward it; the
string-course
FORMAL ANALYSIS VERSUS DESCRIPTION 49
; < . moldings converge in perspective recession upon it. Above,
the groins

of the apse radiate from it; the ribshafts which receive them and
descend to the floor below return the eye inevitably to it. It is
the single
part of a Gothic space in which definiteness is certified. In any
other
•r •> place, for any part which the eye may reach, there is
always an
’■ • indefinite beyond, which remains to be explored. Here
there is none,
j • The altar-table is the common center in which all movement
comes
voluntarily to rest.
—John F. A. Taylor, Design and Expression in the
; Visual Arts (1964), 115-117
In this passage the writer is telling us, analytically, how the
cathedral means.
Opposition to Formal Analysis
Formal analysis, we have seen, assumes that artists shape their
materials so
that a work of art embodies a particular meaning and evokes a
pleasurable
response in the spectator. The viewer today does not try to see
the historical
object with “period” eyes but, rather, sees it with an aesthetic
attitude.
The purpose of formal analysis is to show how intended
meanings are
communicated in an aesthetic object.
Since about 1970, however, these assumptions have been
strongly

called into question. There has been a marked shift of interest
from the
work as a thing whose meaning is contained within itself—a
decontextual-
ized object—to a thing whose meaning partly, largely, or even
entirely con-
sists of its context, its relation to things outside of itself (for
instance, the
institutions or individuals for whom the work was produced),
especially its
relationship to the person who perceives it.
Further, there has been a shift from viewing an artwork as a
thing of
value in itself—or as an object that provides pleasure and that
conveys
some sort of profound and perhaps universal meaning—to
viewing the
artwork as an object that reveals the power structure of a
society. The
work is brought down to earth, so to speak, and is said thereby
to be
“demystified.” Thus the student does not look for a presumed
unified
whole. On the contrary, the student “deconstructs” the work by
looking
for “fissures” and “slippages” that give away—reveal,
unmask—the
underlying political and social realities that the artist sought to
cover up
with sensuous appeal.
A discussion of an early nineteenth-century idyllic landscape
painting,
for instance, today might call attention not to the elegant
brushwork and

the color harmonies (which earlier might have been regarded as
sources of
aesthetic pleasure), or even to the neat hedges and meandering
streams
(meant to evoke pleasing sensations), but to such social or
psychological
matters as the painters unwillingness to depict the hardships of
rural life
and the cruel economic realities of land ownership in an age
when poor
families could be driven from their homes at the whim of a rich
landowner.
Such a discussion might even argue that the picture, by means
of its visual
seductiveness, seeks to legitimize social inequities. (We will
return to the
matters of demystification and deconstruction in Chapter 11,
when we
look at the social historians approach to artworks, on pages 241-
47.)
We can grant that works of art are partly shaped by social and
political
forces (these are the subjects of historical and political
approaches, discussed
in Chapter 11); and we can grant that works of art are partly
shaped by the
artists personality (the subject of psychoanalytical approaches,
also discussed
in Chapter 11). But this is only to say that works of art can be
studied from sev-

eral points of view; it does not invalidate the view that these
works are also, at
least in part, shaped by conscious intentions, and that the shapes
or construc-
tions that the artists (consciously or not) have produced convey
a meaning.
STYLE AS THE SHAPER OF FORM
It is now time to define the elusive word style. The first thing to
say is that the
word is not used by most art historians to convey praise, as in
“He has style.”
Rather, it is used neutrally, for everyone and everything made
has a style—
good, bad, or indifferent. The person who, as we say, “talks like
a book” has a
style (probably an annoying one), and the person who keeps
saying, “Uh, you
know what I mean” has a style too (different, but equally
annoying).
Similarly, whether we wear jeans or gray flannel slacks, we
have a style
in our dress. We may claim to wear any old thing, but in fact we
don’t;
there are clothes we wouldn’t be caught dead in. The clothes we
wear are
expressive; they announce that we are police officers or bankers
or tourists
or college students—or at least they show what we want to be
thought to
be, as when in the 1960s many young middle-class students
wore tattered
clothing, thus showing their allegiance to the poor and their
enmity toward

what was called the Establishment. It is not silly to think of our
clothing as
a sort of art that we make. Once we go beyond clothing as
something that
merely serves the needs of modesty and that provides protection
against
heat and cold and rain, we get clothing whose style is
expressive.
To turn now to our central topic—style in art—we can all
instantly tell
the difference between a picture by van Gogh and one by
Norman ’
Rockwell or Walt Disney, even though the subject matter of all
three |
STYLE AS THE SHAPER OF FORM 51
,pictures may be the same (e.g., a seated woman). How can we
tell? By the
style—that is, by line, color, medium, and all of the other things
we talked
about earlier in this chapter. Walt Disney’s figures tend to be
built up out
"of circles and ovals (think of Mickey Mouse), and the color
shows no mod-
eling or traces of brush strokes; Norman Rockwells methods of
depicting
figures are different, and van Gogh’s are different in yet other
ways.
Similarly, a Chinese landscape, painted with ink on silk or on
paper, sim-
ply cannot look like a van Gogh landscape done with oil paint
on canvas,
partly because the materials prohibit such identity and partly
because the

Chinese painter’s vision of landscape (usually lofty mountains)
is not van
Gogh’s vision. Their works “say” different things. As the poet
Wallace
Stevens put it, “A change of style is a change of subject.”
We recognize certain distinguishing characteristics (from large
matters, such as choice of subject and composition, to small
matters,
such as kinds of brush strokes) that mark an artist, or a period,
or a
culture, and these constitute the style. Almost anyone can
distinguish
between a landscape painted by a traditional Chinese artist and
one
painted by van Gogh. But it takes considerable familiarity with
van Gogh
to be able to say of a work, “Probably 1888 or maybe 1889,”
just as it
takes considerable familiarity with the styles of Chinese
painters to be
able to say, “This is a Chinese painting of the seventeenth
century, in fact
the late seventeenth century. It belongs to the Nanking School
and is a
work by Kung Hsien—not by a follower, and certainly not a
copy, but the
genuine article.”
Style, then, is revealed in form; an artist creates form by
applying
certain techniques to certain materials, in order to embody a
particular
vision or content. In different ages people have seen things
differently:
the nude body as splendid, or the nude body as shameful; Jesus

as
majestic ruler, or Jesus as the sufferer on the cross; landscape
as
pleasant, domesticated countryside, or landscape as wild nature.
So the
chosen subject matter is not only part of the content but is also
part of that
assemblage of distinguishing characteristics that constitutes a
style.
All of the elements of style, finally, are expressive. Take
ceramics
as an example. The kind of clay, the degree of heat at which it
is baked,
the decoration or glaze (if any), the shape of the vessel, the
thickness
of its wall, all are elements of the potter’s style, and all
contribute to
the expressive form. But not every expressive form is available
in every
age; certain visions, and certain technologies, are, in certain
ages,
unavailable. Porcelain, as opposed to pottery, requires a
particular kind
of clay and an extremely high temperature in the kiln, and these
were
simply not available to the earliest Japanese potters. Even the
potter’s
wheel was not available to them; they built their pots by coiling
ropes
of clay and then, sometimes, they smoothed the surface with a

spatula.
The result is a kind of thick-walled, low-fired ceramic that
expresses
energy and earthiness, far different from those delicate Chinese
porcelains that express courtliness and the power of technology
(or, we
might say, of art).
SAMPLE ESSAY: A FORMAL ANALYSIS
The following sample essay, written by an undergraduate,
includes a good ■
deal of description (a formal analysis usually begins with a
fairly full descrip- i
tion of the artwork), and the essay is conspicuously impersonal
(another )
characteristic of a formal analysis). But notice that even this
apparently dis- i
passionate assertion of facts is shaped by a thesis. If we stand
back from the :
essay, we can see that the basic point or argument is this: The
sculpture sue- ;
cessfully combines a highly conventional symmetrical style, on
the one :
hand, with mild asymmetiy and a degree of realism, on the
other.
Figure 1. Seated
Statue of Prince
Khunera as a Scribe.
Egyptian, Old Kingdom, 1
Dynasty 4, reign of
Menkaure, 2490-2472
B.C. Object Place:
•Notes: Egypt (Giza,

Menkaure Cemetery,
MQ1). Limestone,
Height X width X
depth: 30.5 X 21.5 X
16 cm (12 X 8 X
6 5/ie in.) Museum of
Fine Arts, Boston,
Harvard University-
Boston Museum of Fine
Arts Expedition,
13.3140. Photograph ©
2011 Museum of Fine
Arts, Boston.
SAMPLE ESSAY: A FORMAL ANALYSIS 53
*' Put thus, the thesis does not sound especially interesting, but
that is because the statement is highly abstract, lacking in
concrete
detail. A writers job is to take that idea (thesis) and to present it
in an
interesting and convincing way. In drafting and revising an
essay, good
writers keep thinking, “I want my readers to see....” The idea
will come
alive for the reader when the writer supports it by calling
attention
to specific details—the evidence—as the student writer does in
the
following essay.
I Notice, by the way, that in his first sentence the students
refers to
“Figure 1,” which is a photograph of the work he discusses.
(The images in
an essay or book are called figures, and they are numbered
consecutively.)

This illustration (page 52) originally appeared on a separate
page at the end
(of the paper, but here it has been put before the essay.
Stephen Beer
Fine Arts 10A
September 10, 2006
Formal Analysis: Prince Khunera as a Scribe
Prince Khunera as a Scribe, a free-standing Egyptian sculpture
12 inches tall, now in the Museum of Fine Arts Boston (Figure
1), was
found at Giza in a temple dedicated to the father of the prince,
King
Mycerinus. The limestone statue may have been a tribute to that
Fourth Dynasty king.1 The prince, sitting cross-legged with a
scribal
tablet on his lap, rests his hands on his thighs. He wears only a
short
skirt or kilt.
The statue is in excellent condition although it is missing its
right
forearm and hand. Fragments of the left leg and the scribe’s
tablet
also have been lost. The lack of any difference in the carving
between the bare stomach and the kilt suggests that these two
fea-

tures were once differentiated by contrasting paint that has now
faded, but the only traces of paint remaining on the figure are
bits of
black on the hair and eyes.
Museum label.
The statue is symmetrical, composed along a vertical axis which
runs from the crown of the head into the base of the sculpture.
The
sculptor has relied on basic geometric forms in shaping the
statue on
either side of this axis. Thus, the piece could be described as a
circle
(the head) within a triangle (the wig) which sits atop a square
and two
rectangles (the torso, the crossed legs, and the base). The
reliance
on basic geometric forms reveals itself even in details. For
example,
the forehead is depicted as a small triangle within the larger
triangu-
lar form of the headdress.

On closer inspection, however, one observes that the rigidity
of both this geometric and symmetric organization is relieved
by
the artist’s sensitivity to detail and by his ability as a sculptor.
None of the shapes of the work is a true geometric form. The
full,
rounded face is more of an oval than a circle, but actually it is
neither. The silhouette of the upper part of the body is defined
by softly undulating lines that represent the muscles of the arms
and that modify the simplicity of a strictly square shape. Where
the prince’s naked torso meets his kilt, just below the waist, the
sculptor has suggested portliness by allowing the form of the
stomach to swell slightly. Even the '"'circular” navel is flattened
into an irregular shape by the suggested weight of the body.
The contours of the base, a simple matter at first glance,
actually
are not exactly four-square but rather are slightly .curvilinear.
Nor is the symmetry on either side of the vertical axis perfect:
Both the mouth and the nose are slightly askew; the right and
left
forearms originally struck different poses; and the left leg is

given
prominence over the right. These departures from symmetry and
from geometry enliven the statue, giving it both an individuality
and a personality.
Although most of the statue is carved in broad planes, the
sculptor has paid particular attention to details in the head.
There
' Behind the Scene: Beer's Essay, from Early
; Responses to Final Version
This essay is good because it is clear and interesting and
especially because
, it helps the reader to see and enjoy the work of art. Now lets
go backstage,
- so to speak, to see how Stephen Beer turned his notes into an
effective
final draft.
Hie attempted to represent realistically the details of the
prince’s face.
J*
^The parts of the eyes, for example—the eyebrows, eyelids,
eyeballs,
Land sockets—are distinct. Elsewhere the artist has not worked
in
fttsuch probing detail. The breasts, for instance, are rendered in
large

.^‘forms, the nipples being absent. The attention to the details
of the
;J ,face suggests that the artist attempted to render a lifelikeness
of the
prince himself.
r The prince is represented in a scribe’s pose but without a
scribe's tools. The prince is not actually doing anything. He
merely
sits. The absence of any open spaces (between the elbows and
the
waist) contributes to the figure’s composure or self-
containment. But
if he sits, he sits attentively: There is nothing static here. The
slight
upward tilt of the head and the suggestion of an upward gaze of
the
eyes give the impression that the alert prince is attending
someone
else, perhaps his father the king. The suggestion in the statue is
one
of imminent work rather than of work in process.
Thus, the statue, with its variations from geometric order,
suggests the presence, in stone, of a particular man. The pose

may
be standard and the outer form may appear rigid at first, yet the
sculptor has managed to depict an individual. The details of the
face
and the overfleshed belly reveal an intent to portray a person,
not just
an idealized member of the scribal profession. Surely when
freshly
painted these elements of individuality within the confines of
conventional forms and geometric structure were even more
compelling.
56 CHAPTER 3 FORMAL ANALYSIS AND STYI ,F.
Beer’s Earliest Responses. After studying the object and reading
the
museum label, Beers jotted down some notes in longhand, then,
with these
notes as a basis, jotted down ideas in the Notebook application
from Circus
Ponies software. (He could just as easily have used several
other applications.)
Here are the initial notes, the scratch outline, with his first
tentative
modification of it—the deletion of “General remarks,” the
transposition of
some ideas about symmetry, and the addition of one of the
“smaller
variations.”

Background: Egypt to Boston
free-standing, 12" limestone
give over-all view: sitting, hands on thighs
General romarke on Egyptian sculpf^___
Condition
pain-t almo$-t all fftne.
some parts missing
Symmetry (geometry?)
square (body)
circle in triangle (head)
two rectangles
Variations on symmetry
body varied
Realism: Yes and No
riMlel
smaller variations (face, forearms)
Conclusion; summary (?)
geometric but varied

individualized?
combination
A day later, when he returned to work on his paper, stimulated
by
another look at the artwork and by a review of his notes, Beer
made
additional notes.
Organizing Notes. When the time came to turn the notes into a
draft and
the revised draft into an essay, Beer reviewed the notes and he
added
further thoughts. Next, he organized the note pages, putting
together into
one section whatever pages he had about (for instance) realism,
and putting
ogether, into another section, whatever note pages he had about
(again, for
nstance) background material. Reviewing the notes in each
section, and on
!Re basis of the review (after making a backup copy), deleting a
few pages
at no longer seemed useful, as well as moving an occasional
page into a
fferent section (via the Contents view), Beer started to think
about how
ymight organize his essay.
As a first step in settling on an organization, he arranged the
notebook

(ctions into a sequence that seemed reasonable to him. It made
sense, he
ibught, to begin with some historical background and a brief
description,
lien to touch on Egyptian sculpture in general (but he soon
decided not to
nclude this general material), then to go on to some large points
about the
Particular piece, then to refine some of these points, and finally
to offer
fome sort of conclusion. This organization, he felt, was
reasonable and
yould enable his reader to follow his argument easily.
Preparing a Preliminary Outline. In order to get a clearer idea of
where
he might be going, Beer then typed an outline—the gist of what
at this stage
seemed to be the organization of his chief points in the
OmniOutliner(Omni
Group), although he could just as easily have used the Outline
view in
Microsoft Word. In short, he prepared a map or rough outline so
that he
Could easily see, almost at a glance, if each part of his paper
would lead
Coherently to the next part.
L In surveying his outline, Beer became aware of points that he
should
have included but that he had overlooked.
A tentative outline, after all, is not a straitjacket that determines
the
shape of the final essay. To the contrary, it is a preliminary map
that, when

(examined, helps the writer to see not only pointless detours—
these will be
eliminated in the draft—but also undeveloped areas that need to
be worked
up. As the two versions of Beers outline indicate, after drafting
his map he
made some important changes before writing a first draft.
Writing a Draft. Working from his thoughtfully revised outline,
Beer
'wrote a first draft, which he then revised into a second draft.
The truth of
the matter is that when we write a first draft—even after we
have jotted
‘down notes and thought about rearranging and amplifying
them—we are
still writing to clarify our ideas for ourselves; we are still
getting ideas,
still learning, still teaching ourselves. Probably it is only after
we have
written a first draft that we can seriously begin to revise our
thoughts for
a reader.
Modem word processing programs, such as Microsoft Word,
allow you
to track the revisions made to a document and look at different
versions of a
58 CHAPTERS FORMAL ANALYSIS AND STYLE
document. However, many writers find comfort in having a
printed copy of!
each draft to go over with a pen; the desired changes can then

be made (and]
kept track of) on the computer. ]
The word draft, by the way, comes from the same Old English
root that)
gives us draw. When you draft an essay, you are making a
sketch, putting on|
paper (or screen) a sketch or plan that you will later refine. |
Outlining a Draft. A good way to test the coherence of a final
draft—to I
see if indeed it qualifies as an essay rather than as a draft—is to
outline it, 1
paragraph by paragraph, in two ways, indicating (
(a) what each paragraph says <
(b) what each paragraph does i
Here is a double outline of this sort for Beer’s seven-paragraph
essay. ]
In (a) we get a brief summary of what Beer is saying in each
paragraph, I
and in (b) we get, in the italicized words, a description of what
Beer is |
doing. I
Reminder: An outline of this sort is not intended as a device
that wilH
help a writer produce a first draft; rather, it is a way of
checking a final |
draft. Probably the best way to produce a first draft is, after
doing some 1
thoughtful looking, to jot down a few phrases, think about them,
add I
and rearrange as necessary (see the example on page 56), and
then start i

drafting. J
1. a. Historical background and brief description I
b. Introduces the artwork |
2. a. The condition of the artwork I
b. Provides further overall description, preparatory to the |
analysis 1
3. a. The geometry of the work j
b. Introduces the thesis, concerning the basic, overall geometry
|
4. a. Significant details I
b. Modifies (refines) the argument I
5. a. The head |
b. Compares the realism of head with the breasts, in order to 1
make the point that the head is more detailed 1
6. a. The pose 1
b. Argues that the pose is not static I
7. a. Geometric, yet individual I
b. Concludes, largely by summarizing i
THOUGHTS ABOUT THE WORDS “REALISTIC” AND
“IDEALIZED” 59
POSTSCRIPT: THOUGHTS ABOUT THE WORDS
“REALISTIC" AND "IDEALIZED”
P A RULE FOR WRITERS:
feu may or may not want to sketch a rough outline before
drafting your

■essay, but you certainly should outline what you hope is your
final draft,
do see (a) if it is organized, and (b) il the organization will lie
evident to
■the reader.
In his fifth paragraph (page 55) Beers uses the word
“realistically,” and in
his final paragraph he uses “idealized.” These words, common
in essays on
art, deserve comment. Let’s begin a bit indirectly. Aristotle
(384-322 B.c.)
’says that the arts originate in two basic human impulses, the
impulse to
imitate (from the Greek word mimesis, imitation) and the
impulse to create
patterns or harmony. In small children we find both (1) the
impulse to
imitate in their mimicry of others and (2) the impulse to
harmony in their
fondness for rocking and for strongly rhythmic nursery rhymes.
Most works
of art, as we shall see, combine imitation (mimicry, a
representation of what
the eye sees, realism) with harmony (an overriding form or
pattern
produced by a shaping idea). “We can imagine,” Kenneth Clark
wrote, “that
the early sculptor who found the features of a head conforming
to an ovoid,
,]br the body conforming to a column, had a deep satisfaction.
Now it looks
fas if it would last” (Introduction to Masterpieces of Fifty
Centuries, 1970,

|page 15). In short, artists have eyes, but they also have ideas
about basic
^patterns that underlie the varied phenomena around us.
" For an extreme example of a body simplified to a column—a
body
(shaped by the idea that a body conforms to a column—we can
look at
^Constantin Brancusi’s Torso of a Young Man (1924). Here
(page 60) the
(artist’s idea has clearly dominated his eye; we can say that this
body is
'idealized. (Some writers would say that Brancusi gives an
abstract version
.of the body, gives the essence of form.) Looking at this work,
we are not sur-
prised to learn that Brancusi said he was concerned with the
“eternal type
An outline of this sort, in which you force yourself to consider
not only the con-
tent but also the function of each paragraph, will help you to see
if your essay
' • says something and
K • says it with the help of an effective structure.
If the structure is sound, your argument will flow nicely.
[i.e., the prototype] of ephemeral forms,” and that “What is real
is not the 1
external form, but the essence of things.... It is impossible for
anyone to I

express anything essentially real by imitating its exterior
surface.” The real I
or essential form represented in this instance is both the young
man of the 1
title and also the phallus. .1
The idea underlying works that are said to be idealized usually
is the |
idea of beauty. Thus, tradition says that Raphael, seeking a
model for the 1
beautiful mythological Galatea, could not find one model who
was in all |
respects beautiful enough, so he had to draw on several women
(the lips of I
one, the hair of another, and so on) in order to paint an image
that expressed |
the ideally beautiful woman. Examples of idealized images of
male beauty ]
■I
F
Figure 3. 1996.141,
Portrait Head of
Antinous, Roman,
Mid-Imperial, Late
Hadrianic, ca. a.d.
130-138. Marble,
overall 9 Yi X 9 % in.
(24.1 X 21 cm). The
Metropolitan Museum
of Art, Gift of Bronson
Pinchot in recognition
of his mother Rosina
Asta Pinchot, 1996

(1996.401). Image ©
The Metropolitan
Museum of Art/Art
Resource, NY.
“REALISTIC” AND “IDEALIZED” 61
lire provided by many portrait heads of Antinous (also
Antinobs), the youth
feeloved by the Roman emperor Hadrian. Writing in the Bulletin
of the
iMetropolitan Museum of Art, Elizabeth J. Milleker calls
attention to the
Combination of “actual features of the boy” and “an idealized
image” in such
fahead (see the head of Antinoos on this page):
This head is a good example of the sophisticated portrait type
created by
imperial sculptors to incorporate what must have been actual
features of
the boy in an idealized image that conveys a godlike beauty.
The ovoid face
with a straight brow, almond-shaped eyes, smooth cheeks, and
fleshy Bps is
surrounded by abundant tousled curls. The ivy wreath encircling
his head
associates him with Dionysos, a guarantor of renewal and good
fortune.
—Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin (Fall 1997): 15
Realism has at least two meanings in writings about art:
1. a movement in mid-nineteenth-century Western Europe and

America, which emphasized the everyday subjects of ordinary
life,
as opposed to subjects drawn from mythology, history, and
upper-
class experience;
2. fidelity to appearances, the accurate rendition of the surfaces
of peo-
ple, places, and things.
Figure 2. Constantin ]
Brancusi, Torso of a I
Young Man, 1924. ?
Polished brass, 18
with original wood base, 1
58 ViPhotographer: a
Lee Stalsworth. The J
Hirshhom Museum and is
Sculpture Garden,
Smithsonian Institution.
Gift of Joseph H.
Hirshbom, 1966.
In our discussion of realism, we will be concerned only with the
second
definition. Naturalism is often used as a synonym for realism;
thus, a work that
reproduces surfaces may be said to be realistic, naturalistic, or
illusionistic;
veristic is also used, but less commonly. The most extreme form
of realism is
trompe-Toeil (French: deceives the eye), complete illusionism—

the painted fly,
on the picture frame, the waxwork museum guard standing in a
doorway,
images created with the purpose of deceiving the viewer. But of
course most
images are not the exact size of the model, so even if they are
realistically
rendered, they do not deceive. When we look at most images,
we are aware
that we are looking not at reality (a fly, a human being) but at
the product of
the artists gaze at such real things. Further, the medium itself
may prohibit
illusionism; an unpainted stone or bronze head, however
accurate in its
representation of cheekbones, hair, the shape of the nose, and so
forth, cannot
be taken for Abraham Lincoln.
Idealism, like realism, has at least two meanings in art: (1) the
belief '
that a work conveys an idea as well as appearances and (2) the
belief—
derived partly from the first meaning—that it should convey an
idea that
elevates the thoughts of the spectator, and it does this by
presenting an
image, lets say of heroism or of motherhood, loftier than any
real object
that we can see in the imperfect world around us. (Do not
confuse
idealism as it is used in art with its everyday meaning, as in
“despite her
years, she retained her idealism,” where the word means “noble
goals.”)
The story of Raphael’s quest for a model for Galatea (mentioned

on
page 60) is relevant here, and somewhat similarly, the Hadrianic
sculptors
who made images of Antinous, as the writer in the Metropolitan
Museum’s Bulletin said, must have had immind not a particular
youth but
the idea of “godlike beauty.”
By way of contrast, consider Sir Peter Lely’s encounter with
Oliver
Cromwell (1599-1658), the English general and statesman.
Cromwell is
reported to have said to the painter, “Mr. Lely, I desire you
would use all
your skill to paint my picture truly like me, and not flatter me at
all; but
remark [i.e., take notice of] all these roughnesses, pimples,
warts, and
everything as you see me.” Cromwell was asking for a realistic
(or natural-
istic, or veristic) portrait, not an idealized portrait like the
sculpture of
Antinous. What would an idealized portrait look like? It would
omit the
blemishes. Why? Because the blemishes would be thought to be
mere
trivial surface details that would get between the viewer and the
artist’s
idea of Cromwell, Cromwell’s essence as the artist perceives
it—for
instance, the nobility that characterized his statesmanship and
leadership.
What distinguishes the idealizing artist from the ordinary
person, it is
said, is the artist’s imaginative ability to penetrate the visible
(the surface)

and set forth an elevating ideal.
In short, realism is defined as the representation of visual
phenomena
inexactly—as realistically—as the medium (stone, bronze, paint
on paper
B canvas) allows. At the other extreme from illusionism we
have idealism,
for instance, in the representation of the torso of a young man
by a column,
^realistic portrait of Cromwell will show him as he appears to
the eye,
warts and all; an idealized portrait will give us the idea of
Cromwell by, so to
speak, airbrushing the warts, giving him some extra stature,
slimming him
Sown a bit, giving him perhaps a more thoughtful face than he
had, setting
Kim in a pyramidal composition to emphasize his stability,
thereby stimulat-
ing our minds to perceive the nobility of his cause.
f Both realism and idealism have had their advocates. As a
spokesperson
for realism we can take Leonardo, who in his Notebooks says
that “the mind
of the painter should be like a looking-glass that is filled with
as many
images as there are objects before him.” Against this view we
can take a
remark by a contemporary painter, Larry Rivers: “I am not
interested in the
art of holding up mirrors.” Probably most artists offer the
Aristotelian

combination of imitation and harmony. The apparently realistic
(primarily
mimetic) artist is concerned at least in some degree with a
pattern or form
jthat helps to order the work and to give it meaning, and the
apparently
idealistic artist—even the nonobjective artist who might seem to
deal only
in harmonious shapes and colors—is concerned with connecting
the work
Jp the world we live in, for instance, to our emotions. An artist
might
^deliberately depart from surface realism—mimetic accuracy—
in order to
gdefamiliarize” or “estrange” our customary perceptions,
slowing us down
nr shaking us up, so to speak, in order to jostle us out of our
stock responses,
'thereby letting us see reality freshly. Although this idea is
especially
^associated with the Russian Formalist school of the early
twentieth century,
jt can be traced back to the early-nineteenth-century Romantic
writers. For
^instance, Samuel Taylor Coleridge praised the poetry of
William
Wordsworth because, in Coleridge’s words, it removed “the film
of
•familiarity” that clouded our usual vision.
Somewhere near the middle of the spectrum, between artists
who
pffer highly mimetic representations and at the other extreme
those who
offer representations that bear little resemblance to what we
see, we

have the sculptor, hypothesized by Kenneth Clark, who saw the
head as
ran ovoid and said to himself, “Now it looks as if it would last.”
Here the
fidea” that shapes the features of the head (for instance,
bringing the
''pars closer to the skull) is the idea of perfection and
endurance, stability,
-even eternity, and surely some such thoughts cross our minds
when we
perceive works that we love. One might almost write a history
of art in
'terms of the changing proportions of realism and idealism
during the
lifetime of a culture.
It is easy to find remarks by artists setting forth a middle view.
In an
exhibition catalog (1948), Henri Matisse said, “There is an
inherent truth
which must be disengaged from the outward appearances of the
object to
be represented. . . . Exactitude is not truth.” And most works of
art are
neither purely realistic (concerned only with “exactitude,”
realistic
description) nor purely idealistic (concerned only with “an
inherent
truth”). Again we think of Aristotle’s combination of the
impulse to
imitate and the impulse to create harmony. We might think, too,
of a

comment by Picasso: “If you want to draw, you must first shut
your eyes
and sing.”
We can probably agree that Prince Khunera as a Scribe (page
52)
shows a good deal of idealism, but it also shows realistic
touches. Stephen
Beer’s analysis calls attention to its idealized quality, in its
symmetry and its
nearly circular head, but he also says that the eye is rendered
with
“descriptive accuracy.” Or look at Michelangelo’s David (page
70). It
is realistic in its depiction of the veins in David’s hands, but it
is idealized in
its color (not flesh color but white to suggest purity), in its size
(much larger than life, to convey theadeal of heroism), and in
its nudity.
Surely Michelangelo did not think David went into battle naked,
so why is
his David nude? Because Michelangelo, carving the statue in
part to
commemorate the civic constitution of the Florentine republic,
wanted to'
convey the ideas of justice and of classical heroism, and
classical sculptures
of heroes were nude. We can, then, talk about Michelangelo’s
idealism^
and—still talking of the same image—we can talk about his
realism. 1
Consider the three pictures of horses shown on page 65. Han
Gan’s
painting (upper left) is less concerned with accurately rendering
the!

appearance of a horse than with rendering its great inner spirit,
hence
the head and neck that are too large for the body, and the body
that is too;
large for the legs. The legs, though in motion to show the
horse’s grace and
liveliness, are diminished because the essence of the horse is
the strength of
its body, communicated partly by juxtaposing the arcs of its
rump and its
(unreal) electrified mane with the stolid hitching post. In brief,
the
A RULE FOR WRITERS:
There is nothing wrong with using the words realistic and
idealized in
vour essay but keep in mind that it is not a matter of all-or-
nothing;
there are degree's of realism and degrees of idealization. -
&
MB
|Figure 6. Great Britain, County Down, Mount Stewart House &
Garden—Hambletonian
Sby George Stubbs © 1800. Oil on canvas 82 54" X 144 54".
Photographer: NTPL. The Image
Works.
sESgure 4. Chinese paintings. Night-Shining White,
gang Dynasty (618?—907), 8th century. Attributed
io Han Gan (Chinese, act. 742?-756) China
Kindscroll; ink on paper; 12 % X 13 % in.
|-30.8 X 34 cm.). The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
purchase, The Dillon Fund, 1977 (1977.78).

photographer: Malcom Varon. 1990.BP41
•POSTSCRIPT: THOUGHTS ABOUT THE WORDS
Mi
Figure 5. Leonardo Da Vinci, A
Horse in Profile to the Right, and
its Forelegs, c. 1490. Silverpoint
on blue prepared surface, 8 %" X
6 The Royal Collection © 2006
Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.
Architecture. Though for some purposes photographs of
buildings are
indispensable, try to write about buildings that you have visited.
If you must
I'ely on photographs, try to imagine yourself moving within the
building.
painting shows what we in the West probably would call an
idealized horseJ
although the Chinese might say that by revealing the spirit the
picture cap]
tures the “real” horse. (It once had a tail, but the tail has been
largely!
eroded by wear, and the vestiges have been obscured by an
owners seal.) 1
Leonardo’s drawing (upper right) is largely concerned with
anatomical
correctness, and we can call it realistic. Still, by posing the
horse in profile!
Leonardo calls attention to the animal’s geometry, notably the

curves of the]
neck, chest, and rump, and despite the accurate detail the
picture seems tdl
represent not a particular horse but the essential idea of a horse.
(Doubtless!
the blank background and the absence of a groundplane here, as
in the!
Chinese painting, contribute to this impression of idealizing.) 1
George Stubbs’s painting of Hambletonian (bottom), who had
recently!
won an important race, surely is an accurate representation of a
particular!
horse, but even here we can note an idealizing element: Stubbs
emphasizes!
the animal s heroic stature by spreading its image across the
canvas so that !
the horse dwarfs the human beings and the buildings. 1
If your instructor asks you to compare two works—perhaps an’l
Egyptian ruler and a Greek athlete, or an Indian Buddha and a
Chinese |
Buddha—you may well find one of them more realistic than the
other, buf j
remember, even a highly realistic work may include idealized
elements, and!
an idealized work may include realistic elements: |
gjgulpture. Photographs of works of sculpture are an enormous
aid; we
^rn.see details of a work that, even if we were in its presence,
might be
l||yisible because the work is high above us on a wall or because
it is
Kfirouded in darkness. The sculptural programs on medieval
buildings,

Elfely visible in situ, can be analyzed (e.g., for their
iconography and their
Style) by means of photographs. But keep in mind the following
points:
Bl • Because a photograph is two-dimensional, it gives little
sense of a
BL sculpture in the round. Fortunately, some Web sites do offer
l|fy 360-degree panoramas of sculpture.
I|k • A photograph may omit or falsify color, and it may
obliterate
EF distinctive textures.
E1 • The photographer’s lighting may produce dramatic
highlights
B| or contrasts, or it may (by even fighting) eliminate highlights
that
K would normally be evident. Further, a bust (say, a Greek head
in a
Ep museum) when photographed against a dark background may
seem
Bp to float mysteriously, creating an effect very different from
the
BT rather dry image of the same bust photographed, with its
mount
Bp visible, against a light gray background. In short,
photographs of
sculpture are highly interpretative.
■F- • A photograph of a work even in its original context (to
say nothing
K of a photograph of a work in a museum) may decontextualize
the
K work, for example, by not taking account of the angle from
which
Il the work was supposed to be seen. The first viewers of
R Michelangelo’s Moses had to look upward to see the image,

but
■ almost all photographs in books show it taken straight on.
Similarly,
Bp a photo of Daniel Chester French’s Lincoln can convey
almost
B nothing of the experience of encountering the work as one
mounts
B the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.
Bk • Generally, photographs do not afford a sense of scale
(relative size);
E for example, one may see Michelangelo’s David (about 13
feet tall)
E as no bigger than a toy soldier, unless the photograph
includes
Bh human viewers.
BOSTSCRIPT: THOUGHTS ABOUT THE WORDS
Impossible, therefore, write only about works that you have
actually seen—
Pgrks that you have actually experienced by standing in their
presence. If
E can’t see the original, ask your instructor to recommend the
books or
jEeb sites with the best reproductions of the works that you are
writing
®Bout, but even with good reproductions the sense of scale is
lost.
Cautionary Words about Digital Images
Drawings and Paintings. The colors of images, reproductions in
books,
and images on the World Wide Web range from pretty accurate

to very
poor.
• Even if the color is good, reproductions give little if any sense
of
the texture of the original drawing or painting. They lose, for
instance, the roughness or smoothness of the paper of a
drawing,
or the three 1-1 dimensionality and juiciness of thickly applied
oil
paint.
• Reproductions in books normally indicate the size of the
original,
but viewers nevertheless usually do not mentally transform the
reproduction into the size of the original drawing or painting.
A life-size portrait makes an effect utterly different from a
minia-
ture, and standing in front of a Japanese screen that is 5% feet
tall
and 12 feet long differs from looking at a reproduction 5%
inches
tall and 12 inches long.
• Frames, even when they are designed by the painter, are rarely
reproduced in textbooks or catalogs.
Remember, architecture is not a large sculpture, an object that
one looks at;
rather, it is a distinct place, a space in which one moves.
• Photographs tell us something about what the facades look

like, but
they tell us little or nothing about how well a building functions
and
little or nothing about how well it is built.
• Photographs rarely tell us how the building relates visually to
its
neighbors. (Eugene J. Johnson could not have said what he says
on
page 114 about the Seagram building if he had been working
only
from a photograph.)
• Human beings are rarely shown in architectural photographs,
especially in photographs of interiors, which are likely to be
neatly composed pictures rather than images of lived-in spaces.
And without people, it is hard to sense the scale of the rooms.
Note: Advanced students may wish to consult Walter
Benjamin’s
seminal essay, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical
Reproduction”
(1936). The essay is available online:
www.marxists.org/reference/subject/
philosophy/works/ge/benjamin.htm
ANALYTIC THINKING
1 To think is to disturb one’s thoughts.
—Jean Rostand
—Neil Young
gEEING AND SAYING
; There’s more to the picture

h Than meets the eye,
Hey hey, my my.
pi analysis is, literally, a separating into parts in order to
understand the
Hole. (Beer’s essay [53] on an Egyptian sculpture is a clear
example.)
^hen you analyze, you are seeking to account for your
experience of the
ork. (Analysis thus includes synthesis, the combination of the
parts into
Se whole.) You might, for example, analyze Michelangelos
marble statue
wavid (see page 70), the youth who with a slingshot killed the
heavily armed
giant Goliath, by considering:
, • Its sources (in the Bible, in Hellenistic sculpture, in
Donatello’s
bronze David, and in the political and social ideas of the age—
e.g.,
[ David as a civic hero, the enemy of tyranny, and David as the
embodiment of Fortitude)
• Its material and the limitations of that material (marble lends
itself
to certain postures but not to others, and marble has an effect—
in
texture and color—that granite or bronze or wood does not
have)
( • Its pose (which gives the statue its outline, its masses, and
its

P enclosed spaces or lack of them)
; • Its facial expression
• Its nudity (a nude Adam is easily understandable, but why a
nude
i David? Statues of Greek heroes and gods were nude, so
fcr Michelangelo dressed—so to speak—his David in heroic or
even
godlike nudity. Further physical beauty can serve as a metaphor
representing spiritual strength)
69
http://www.marxists.org/reference/subject/
FORMAL ANALYSIS CHECKLIST
This does not need to be turned in with your assignment, but
failure to meet any of the following criteria will result in the
dropping of half a letter grade (meaning 5 points) for each
omission (with only the exception of plagiarism – see the
syllabus policy):
FORMAT
____ It must have a word count of between 750 and 1000 words
WITHOUT PICTURES, FOOTNOTES, TITLE PAGE OR
BIBLIOGRAHY, OR YOUR NAME/DATE/CLASS. Your paper
will be marked down if it is not the required length.
____ It must be typed in Times New Roman 12 pt Font.
____ It must have one-inch margins on all four sides.
____ It must be double spaced.
____ No extra space between paragraphs. (In Word, highlight
all of your text, go to Paragraph, then click the box next to
“Don’t add space between paragraphs of the same style.”)
Indent the beginning of each paragraph.

____ Title specific to your paper, that expresses the ideas about
which you write in the text, not the name of the assignment (for
ex., not “Writing Assignment 1” or “Formal Analysis Paper”).
No title page required. You may put your name at the top of the
first page.
____ Introductory paragraph with thesis statement and brief
description of work of art.
____ All paragraphs include topic/introductory sentence,
information relating to that topic, explanation or details, and
concluding sentence.
____ Concluding paragraph summarizes your important points
without simply repeating what you’ve already said and without
introducing new ideas that you haven’t discussed.
GRAMMAR/STYLE
____ It must not contain more than 3 major grammar or
punctuation errors (including plurals, possessives, semicolon
and comma use, use of adverbs v. adjectives, verb conjugation,
incomplete sentences, pronoun use, not using contractions,
appropriate capitalization, etc.). If you have questions
pertaining to grammar issues, you should consult TheElements
of Style, which is available online at the following site:
http://www.bartleby.com/141/. Also, you can go to the Writing
Center for help. For more information see
http://www.coastal.edu/writingcenter/
____ Do not use first- or second-person personal pronouns, such
as “I” and “you” (or me, my, mine, your, we, us, our…) or
“one”
____ Do not refer to the viewer; anything you describe will be
stated from the viewer’s point of view, so this is not necessary.
For example: “the viewer sees…”, “one notices that…”, “it can
be seen that…”, “when looking…”, “the audience…”, “the eye
notices that…,” “looking at the painting…,” “are visible,” “it

looks like…,” “at first glance,” “based on observations,”etc.
____ Keep verb tense consistent in your paper and when
discussing works of art (usually use present: i.e. “The painting
is…The figures in the painting show…”)
____ No conversational language, for example: “gives off,”
“sticks out,” “vibe,” “guy,” “laid back,” “looks to be,” “kind
of,” “sorta,” “grab,” “looks okay,” “looks weird,” “relatable,”
“how come,” “builds off of,” “impactful,” “shows up,” “way
too…,” “have a feel to them,” “big on,” “ditto,” “back in the
day,” “genius” used as an adjective, etc. Try to sound art
historical.
____ If you discuss a specific work of art, you must provide: 1)
the name of the artist, spelled correctly; 2) the title of the work,
italicized; the first time you mention the work, give the date the
work was created (in parentheses after the title is fine).
____ If you refer to an artist, use last name, not first name.
CITATION (you do not need to do any research for this paper,
but in case you do use something from an outside source)
____ All citations cited using Chicago style footnotes or
endnotes. (See links on Moodle for guidelines, or see the
Chicago Manual of Style in the library. You must give the exact
page number for each citation, not a range of pages. Each
footnote has a separate number; do not repeat numbers.) If you
use text or information from uncited sources it is PLAGIARISM
and may result in an FX grade for the class.
____ All citations/quotes contextualized, not just dropped into
the paper as independent sentences.
____ Citations used to quote the artist or theoretical ideas; facts
rephrased in your own words BUT STILL CITED. (For example,
this should be rephrased: The painting “was completed in the

nineteenth century in Barcelona.”1 This quote should be
rephrased in your own words. BUT: Monet said, “When you go
out to paint, try to forget what objects you have before you.”2
These are Monet’s own words, so it’s good to cite them exactly.
Give specific page numbers.
FINAL REVIEW
____ Proofread for spelling and grammar issues.
____ Re-read assignment directions before submitting final
copy.
____ Upload the paper to Moodle Turnitin. You do not need to
submit a hard copy.
____ No text or information from outside sources has been
used. If you use text or information from uncited sources, it is
PLAGIARISM and may result in an FX grade for the class. If
you cite any information, use Chicago style citation:
http://www.chicagomanualofstyle.org/tools_citationguide.html
____ The paper must be turned in by time scheduled on the due
date. Anything submitted afterwards will not be accepted. NO
EXCEPTIONS.

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